


The Intrinsic Vulnerability of a Roast Chicken

by greenwillow



Series: Top of the Class [7]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Secret Relationship, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28855428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenwillow/pseuds/greenwillow
Summary: Aldhelm turns slightly evasive.  Aethelflaed plans a quiet dinner for the two of them which is derailed by a group of unexpected guests.
Relationships: Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Aldhelm (The Last Kingdom)
Series: Top of the Class [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048940
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	The Intrinsic Vulnerability of a Roast Chicken

**Author's Note:**

> I warned that this AU would get more self-indulgent, clearly that extends to the titles as well. 
> 
> Shouout to irisdouglasiana and kingwellsjaha for their incredible [Aethelwold playlist](https://ivarthebadbitch.tumblr.com/post/636711615252856832/the-thing-to-know-about-aethelwold-is-that-hes-a) which I allude to here.
> 
> Also second shoutout to kingwellsjaha for pitching me this chapter weeks ago when I first started this AU!
> 
> I should note that I do a bit of (loving) roasting of Uhtred primarily here. I don't think it's something that will get anyone riled up but if you're like a super big Uhtred stan...I would actually be surprised, given how niche my readership in this fandom is lol. 
> 
> Oh and one last note, for the purposes of this AU Osferth is not related to Aethelflaed...as much as I'd like that relationship explored in canon and other AUs it just didn't make sense to add that layer here.
> 
> CW: alcohol use, brief reference to drug use.

Aethelflaed glances down at her lap. A text from Aldhelm illuminates the screen of her phone.

_Not a problem. Enjoy dinner._

That strange, tight feeling pulls at her insides again. She shouldn’t feel bad for the way she handled the awkwardness of the situation—should she?—and she knows Aldhelm would never in a million years complain. But she still feels…guilty? Is it guilt? It’s certainly a feeling she’s not overly familiar with.

“So how are you finding your courses, dear?”

“Fine, Mother.” Aethelflaed shakes her head slightly, refocusing on her responsibilities at hand. It has been months since she’s seen her parents, and she’s rather out of practice performing.

“And your internship?” Alfred asks, looking down his nose at her and adjusting his glasses. “You’re prepared to take that on?”

“Yes, everything is going according to plan for summer too.”

Alfred makes a satisfied noise and Aelswith begins to speculate on which soups might be safe for him to eat, which gives Edward a chance to nudge Aethelflaed with his foot under the table.

“So….the, erhmm, paramour…in your boudoir?” He speaks in a low voice and pronounces the last few words with an exaggerated accent which causes Aethelflaed to roll her eyes.

“He’s no one,” she whispers back. “Just someone that I’m seeing and didn’t feel the need to explain.” She tilts her head toward the other side of the table and fixes Edward with a severe glance.

“Hmmmm, very interesting.” Edward tents his fingers and squints in near-perfect imitation of Alfred, who is still absorbed in his menu. “And why would that be? He didn’t look like someone to be ashamed of, but I suppose anyone can have a dark secret. Is he a drug smuggler? A hitman? Perhaps a hairdresser?”

Aethelflaed redirects her irritation and begins to aggressively butter a roll. “Don’t be absurd. It’s just a casual fling, Ed. No one worth making a fuss over. I don’t initiate a formal inquisition every time you start texting a new boy.”

“Yes, but I’m not in university. I can do what I like. You, on the other hand…” Edward shoots a glance towards their parents, who have begun asking the waiter questions by the dozen. “My point is, what is my silence worth to you?”

“Seriously, Ed?” Aethelflaed’s temper flares and she’s instantly transported back to their school days of constant bickering and minor sabotage. She’s moved on but clearly, Edward hasn’t.

He nods, face fixed with a blandly pleasant expression, though his eyes are alight with mischief. Aelswith is still ordering, so Aethelflaed has just enough time to lift her menu and hiss, “If you tell them, I’ll be sure to let slip that your pretty prep school friend was doing coke off the kitchen counter every single day they were in Italy last summer.”

Edward’s mouth falls open. He has no response. Aethelflaed smiles in satisfaction, then orders the fish.

* * *

For some reason, the fact that Edward knows that Aldhelm exists (though not the particulars of his existence) makes Aethelflaed more committed to prolonging the relationship. Not that she had wanted to end it…not even that it was truly a relationship. But she isn’t going to blackmail her brother over nothing. She’d played that card, so she supposes the stakes are higher in some strange way of which Aldhelm is not aware.

That makes it slightly more awkward when he doesn’t appear to be on the same page. She texts him the next week about hanging out, but he says he’s too busy, and they don’t see each other off-campus for a time. Of course he’s busy, she’s busy too, so why does his excuse give her a slightly nauseous feeling?

They do text a little most days—he initiates it, and she enjoys the reminder that there’s something between them, however tenuous and unimportant. Her schedule is fairly full, so it’s not like she needs something to occupy her time. But she misses the quiet moments they would spend together, the presence of someone else at her side some nights. She misses the sex too, of course, but somehow that’s what she misses least now. When she sees him on campus, in class, it’s less exciting than it used to be. She used to feel like she had a secret only Aldhelm knew, now it feels like she’s the butt of a joke that someone else told.

Maybe he’s cooling on her, she thinks. Stupidly, she had assumed that she would be the one to end things when the point to end them arrived. But then he texts her about coming over the first Friday in December, and she’s flooded with relief. She tells herself that she’s just lonely—she really hasn’t seen many friends lately. It must be that.

Normally at this point in the term, she’d need an evening of pure fun, a break from her routine. But she’s committed to her goal of low drama and she can't take Aldhelm out drinking anyway. So instead of crashing at Uhtred’s and making a series of increasingly poor decisions, she decides to take on a cooking project. She finds a recipe, makes a list, and goes to the grocers. It all feels very grown up in a way that’s somewhat foreign to her, but she is determined to rise to the challenge.

The instructions are simple enough. Heat the oven, pat the chicken dry, season it, and cook it. How hard can it be?

Surprisingly difficult, it turns out. The bird is slippery and so cold—she’s sure she’ll get frostbite digging the giblets out, not to mention ruining her manicure. She’s about halfway through her preparation when she realizes she hadn’t given her parents’ staff enough credit growing up.

Aethelflaed is attempting to determine which side of the chicken is right side up so she can tie the legs with a bit of twine (well, in her case, a ribbon—she had neglected to buy twine) when Aldhelm arrives, using the spare key she had lent him.

She’d never seen him look more surprised, not even when Aethelwold’s phone had gone off in the middle of a lecture last year, playing “Sorry for Party Rocking” at quite a loud volume.

Aldhelm sets his things down on the table by the door (the fact that this remains a habit reassures her) and removes his jacket, all the while looking into the kitchen with a vaguely concerned expression.

“Is there…someone you would like me to call?”

She had in fact briefly considered calling Maureen, the family cook, and had decided against it in the interest of doing the damn thing herself, but she somewhat resents the suggestion coming from him.

“It’s fine, I’ll have this in the oven in a moment.”

He approaches the room slowly, apparently fascinated by all the measuring spoons and other cooking paraphernalia lying about.

“I had no idea you actually kept anything in your cabinets,” he says, gingerly picking up a head of fennel. “Would you…like me to chop this?”

“If you want,” she shrugs, as he scans for a knife. “It’s in the sink, you’ll have to wash it.”

He rolls up his sleeves and gets to work, completely silent but watching her cautiously out of the corner of his eye. It irritates her immediately, but on her third and final attempt to tie the legs of the chicken she meets his eye with triumphant defiance.

“I hope you are regretting your skepticism about my skill level.”

He raises an eyebrow and gestures to the cutting board before him, which is covered in rather roughly chopped fennel and carrot. “Clearly I have no high ground from which to judge.”

She frowns. “Those look a bit erratic.”

“Yes. Sorry.” He leans both hands onto the counter, brow furrowed as he looks over at her. “What exactly are we doing here?”

“I got tired of takeaway,” she explains, wiping her hands on her Breton striped apron.

“Right. Of course.”

“I thought it would be nice to cook,” she continues. “We always used to have roast chicken on a weekend back home. I’m not sure this recipe is very close, there’s no lemon…I think it used to have lemon…”

She frowns again, wondering how she could add lemon—juice it perhaps? And when she refocuses on him, he’s biting back a smile.

“Whatever is so amusing?”

“Nothing, nothing—just the great Aethelflaed, laid waste by a chicken.”

She snorts a laugh and rolls her eyes. “I feel very good about this, actually. The vegetables, on the other hand—“

“They’re not _so_ bad—“

“I’m no chef—“

“Clearly.”

“—But even I think your technique could use some work.”

“I’ll be sure to take a cooking course,” he murmurs, tossing the ends of the fennel into the bin. “Anyway, what’s next?”

Aethelflaed squints at the iPad she has propped up on the counter. “I think….it goes in the oven now.”

Aldhelm cocks his head. “Why on earth do you even have a roasting pan? Have you ever used it?”

“No, but I’ve never used my fire extinguisher either. You never know when you might need it.”

He bites his lip and nods sarcastically. “Mmmm. How long will it take to cook?”

“About an hour and a half, this says,” she replies, opening the oven and gently lowering the chicken onto the rack.

He glances at his watch, then back at her.

“And how did you plan to pass the time between now and then? Perhaps make a soufflé?”

“Well, first I’d like to clean the kitchen,” she replies caustically, ignoring his joke as she wipes down the counters and moves dishes to the sink.

She washes her hands and takes off her apron before walking towards him and he peers over her shoulder dramatically.

“So when you said clean the kitchen, you meant rearrange the mess?”

“I’m only going to ask you this once,” she says, grabbing the front of his shirt, “but let’s try and turn your critical brain off for a night, shall we?”

She’s kissing him, and he’s laughing as he kisses her, his hands resting on her back as he pulls her closer, and that warmth that she’s grown so accustomed to when they’re together threatens to overwhelm her. She’s missed him.

“I thought you liked me for my mind,” he murmurs into her ear.

“I have no idea where you got that idea,” she replies, beginning to untuck his shirt.

His energy shifts now, as if he’d suddenly remembered he had somewhere to be. She matches him as he pulls back, not offended but somewhat alarmed. His hands still linger on her waist, but he's frowning.

“Sorry, don’t mean to be rude,” he says, shifting on his feet, “But can we talk about something?”

It’s sounding rather serious—not unlike him, but he isn’t usually this type of earnest in this particular context.

“What’s up?” she asks, heart beginning to race slightly. Something about the way he’s looking at her is making her chest feel tight and panicked, but she continues to present a cool smile.

It’s then that the doorbell rings—a brash, buzzing sound that she’s not used to hearing unless she’s expecting Aldhelm or a delivery person.

“Have you…invited anyone else?” he asks, his seriousness shifting into apprehension.

“No, of course not,” she replies with a laugh. His nervousness counteracts hers and she's calm again. “Let me go see who it is. They may be looking for a different flat.”

She crosses to the intercom and he lingers by the kitchen, re-tucking his shirt as if the person on the other end might know if he didn’t. It’s silly, but she can't help smiling at him as she pushes the button, and doesn’t care if the person at the other end can hear it in her voice.

“Who is it?”

_“Aethelflaed? It’s Uhtred.”_

_Shit_. Her eyes widen with horror. Aldhelm is rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, squinting unpleasantly. He doesn’t know Uhtred other than by name, she’s fairly sure, but it’s clear he’s there to see her and not by mistake.

“Uhtred, hi…what are you doing here?”

 _“I just thought I’d come over and check in.”_ Uhtred’s voice, though cheerful, indicates he will not be deterred. Perhaps Aethelflaed should not have been avoiding his parties quite so much.

She winces as she tries to decide how to handle him, and Aldhelm, though silent, crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. This is certainly a situation she had not foreseen, and she’s grappling with how to let him down gently when he adds, _“Sihtric’s with me too.”_

Aethelflaed can breathe again. Gisela had not in fact broken up with him and sent him looking for one last fling of the semester.

Her finger hovers over the button, and she glances back at Aldhelm. “It’s fine, I’ll tell him I’m sick.”

Aldhelm nods, looking relieved—prematurely, it turns out.

She hits the button. “Uhtred? I’m not feeling well, can we try for tomorrow, maybe?”

No response.

“Uhtred?”

Then she hears a knock at the door, and her blood runs cold.

She jumps back as if the intercom panel had delivered an electric shock, entirely unsure what to do—it’s almost definitely Uhtred, and he definitely knows she’s home.

Aethelflaed takes a few cautious steps towards Aldhelm, who is holding one hand to his mouth. He moves it to whisper, “What do you want me to do?”

Hiding in the bedroom would not do, not this time—nor should it be necessary. Uhtred and Sihtric were easier to manage than her parents. She would have to think on her feet, but certainly, she’d faced more difficult challenges than this.

“Just…follow my lead,” she whispers back.

Aldhelm tilts his head skeptically.

“Trust me.”

“It doesn’t seem I have a choice,” he says dryly.

“Your confidence is inspiring.”

He just shakes his head, and she takes a deep breath, smooths her hair, and opens the door.

“It certainly took you long enough,” Uhtred says, sauntering in immediately.

Sihtric hesitates on the doormat for a moment while he and Aethelflaed exchange a greeting. “One of your neighbors was leaving and let us up,” he explains a bit sheepishly.

“Sorry, I didn’t know we were intruding…who’s this?” Uhtred asks, a bit more abrupt than courteous, as he sees Aldhelm.

Aldhelm takes a step forward to introduce himself, but Aethelflaed pre-empts that.

“No intrusion,” she replies cooly. “This is my friend, Aldhelm. Aldhelm, meet my friends Uhtred and Sihtric.”

They all shake hands, and Aethelflaed notes with some amusement that Uhtred and Aldhelm seem to be sizing each other up, and not very subtly. That is almost enough to make up for the fact that this situation is making her vibrate with stress.

“Does anyone want a drink?” she asks, crossing to the bar. Perhaps this is not the best way to proceed, but frankly, she needs one. Based on the tense way Aldhelm is now holding his shoulders he looks as if he needs one too. 

Everyone murmurs in agreement so she makes an executive decision to pour scotch into four glasses.

Uhtred looks into the kitchen as she hands him his drink. “Have you been…cooking?”

“It’s not just me then,” mutters Aldhelm into his glass, and Aethelflaed shoots him an irritated look. He raises his eyebrows apologetically and shoves his free hand into his pocket.

“Yes, Uhtred, I am cooking. It’s not the most surprising thing you’ve ever seen, surely.”

Uhtred is peering into the oven now. “You’re roasting a chicken?” He glances up between her and Aldhelm. “Who are you, and what have you done with Aethelflaed?”

She laughs despite herself. “I have a variety of interests, you know.” Cooking isn’t one of them, but it’s never too late to develop new skills.

“This can’t have been your idea,” Uhtred continues, looking to Aldhelm now.

“It certainly wasn’t mine,” Aldhelm replies. “Much too ambitious.”

Uhtred is sizing up Aldhelm again, in a way that Aethelflaed finds somewhat compelling. She knows she can’t reveal their actual relationship to Uhtred, but the thought of doing so tickles her. He would certainly be surprised at her evolving taste in men.

“You have a nice place, Aethelflaed,” Sihtric says, glancing around the room appreciatively.

“Of course she does,” Uhtred replies somewhat territorially, and silence hangs awkwardly until he turns to Aldhelm again.

“You look familiar. You’re a student here?”

“Graduate student, yes.”

“Ah,” Uhtred smiles. “That explains it. I think we may have started the same year.”

“Entirely possible,” Aldhelm says innocently. Aethelflaed nearly chokes on her drink. Only Uhtred, still slogging away at the same undergraduate degree twice as long as the rest of his initial year, would think that a point in his favor.

“Anyway, we were going to drag you to the Burg—“

“I was not going to participate in the dragging—“ Sihtric interjects.

“But if you’re making dinner, why don’t we just spend the evening here?”

Aethelflaed suppresses the annoyance that wells up within her. The more obvious it is that Uhtred is getting to her, the more likely it is he will push her to a breaking point.

“We wouldn't want to intrude—“ Sihtric begins, but Uhtred cuts him off.

“What, we’re not interrupting anything, right?”

It’s more a challenge than a question, but Aethelflaed smiles calmly and hopes Aldhelm can do his best to channel the same energy.

“No, you’re not interrupting. _Love_ for you to stay.”

“Good.” Uhtred grins and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll tell Finan and Osferth to bring something to contribute.”

It is usually a four-for-one special with this crew, Aethelflaed should have foreseen that. She and Aldhelm exchange a glance, which Sihtric is astute enough to ignore, then Uhtred glances up.

“Should they bring wine?”

“Thanks, yes,” Aethelflaed says as Aldhelm replies, “ _Please_.”

“Well, we don't need to all stand around here,” Aethelflaed continues, gesturing to the sitting room. “Make yourselves at home.”

Uhtred barely requires the invitation. He and Sihtric gravitate towards the sofa, Sihtric picking up a book of vintage photography that lives on the coffee table.

“Do you want me to leave?” Aldhelm asks in a low voice, lingering behind for a second as Aethelflaed collects herself.

“No,” she replies decisively.

He glances toward Uhtred and Sihtric, who are now engrossed in a discussion of vintage photography at an almost performative level. “I’m not entirely sure, but I do think this may be one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had.”

“It’ll be fine,” she insists, nearly convincing herself. “Uhtred knows I have other friends.”

“Yes, but it won’t take a genius to piece together how we know each other—“

“Well, don't tell him you’re a TA. It’s not like he’s bound to ask, but if he does, lie. It’s easy, try it.”

Aldhelm seems unsure, and she begins to wonder if he really will leave, which for some reason sends a pang through her, but then he gives her a small resigned smile and heads into the other room. She breathes a sigh of relief and follows.

He takes a seat at the end of the couch, leaving a nearby chair free for her.

“And how do you all know each other?” he asks the other two men, surprising Aethelflaed by taking the offensive.

“Aethelflaed and I had a lab together her first year,” Uhtred says, throwing his arm over the back of the couch and crossing his ankle over his knee. “How did you two become friends?”

Aldhelm takes a sip of his drink, leaving space for Aethelflaed to answer.

“We had a history class together last term,” she replies brightly. Aldhelm nods in agreement. It’s barely a lie, after all.

They carry on talking of past courses—Sihtric has taken a few of the same professors that Aldhelm did when he was an undergraduate—and Aethelflaed begins to feel almost relieved. Perhaps they really could carry this off after all. Then Aldhelm crosses to the bar when his drink is empty and stops halfway, apparently realizing he might look a bit too comfortable. He winces slightly, probably realizing his hesitation is more awkward than if he’d just refreshed his drink.

“May I—“

“Help yourself,” Aethelflaed says, pasting a perfectly composed look on her face.

“Anyone else?” Aldhelm asks, holding the bottle of scotch in a strangely helpless fashion. Sihtric shakes his head, but Uhtred nods and extends his glass, his gaze darting back to Aethelflaed.

She keeps smiling. The scotch helps.

The conversation turns to rugby—Aldhelm is strangely good at maintaining this line of questioning with Uhtred, and Aethelflaed is relieved he’s temporarily distracted by something that has nothing to do with her personal life.

Finan and Osferth arrive when she’s checking on the chicken. Finan is carrying an entire case of wine, and Osferth has a crusty loaf of bread and some vegetables peeking out of a brown paper bag.

“Finan came prepared!” Uhtred laughs, and Aldhelm shoots a glance at Aethelflaed that’s a mixture of judgment and amusement.

“Hello, Aethelflaed,” Osferth says softly, hovering in the doorway of the kitchen, “May I?”

She steps aside, pleased by his deference.

“Very nice of you to have us over,” Osferth says, beginning to unpack the groceries.

“You know as well as I do that Uhtred invited himself over,” Aethelflaed replies, glancing at the group in the sitting room. Uhtred and Finan appear to be teasing Sihtric, and Aldhelm is watching with the detached focus of a zoologist observing a new species in an unfamiliar habitat.

Osferth chuckles at her reply, and she’s reminded why she’s always liked him best of Uhtred’s crew.

“I thought I’d make a salad if that’s alright. Won’t take me long.”

“You’re very kind to offer,” Aethelflaed sighs, relieved someone else will be taking over the domestic responsibilities. She isn’t sure they’ll have enough food to go around, but these additions should help. She hands Osferth the tools he needs, including her apron, and leaves him to chop in peace. She doesn’t care to leave Uhtred and Finan unsupervised for long—Aldhelm may be clever, but managing those two is a particularly delicate task at times.

“So, Aethelflaed, your friend here was just tellin’ us that he’s never been to a party at the Burg,” Finan says, breaking the seal on a bottle of wine as he twists it open.

Aldhelm clears his throat, brow slightly furrowed as he glances at Aethelflaed. “I didn’t realize it was such a rite of passage.”

“I thought it was a graduation requirement at this point, to be honest,” Finan says, accepting the glass Aethelflaed hands him and completely ignoring how she winces as he pours red wine above her plush white carpeting.

“You’ll have to join us at the next party—Aethelflaed too, you know you owe us a visit,” Uhtred says, grinning up at her.

“Of course,” Aethelflaed lies.

“Sihtric’s mysterious new girlfriend needs to come, too,” Uhtred says.

“If she even exists,” Finan adds. “None of us have met her,” he explains to Aldhelm and Aethelflaed. “He refuses to bring her ‘round.”

“Shocking,” Aldhelm says, almost convincingly sincere, and Aethelflaed hides her laugh behind a cough.

Resisting the urge to drape her body over Aldhelm’s on the couch, Aethelflaed resumes her seat in the armchair. Uhtred is looking sidelong at her in a somewhat curious way, but she smiles coyly and he refocuses on Finan.

“Anyway, what happened to that girl you’ve been texting?”

“Ah, nothin’,” Finan sighs. “I don’t think it’s in the cards.”

“Too bad,” Uhtred says. “But maybe you will let Gisela set you up with one of her friends now?”

Finan winces slightly. “Eh, they’re all very posh—no offense, Aethelflaed!”

Aethelflaed laughs outright now, and it’s not lost on her that Aldhelm is holding back a smile.

“Do ‘posh’ girls frighten you, Finan?” she asks.

“Nah, it just seems like…a lot of effort. Not you, of course. But…havin’ to dress a certain way…probably cut my hair…”

Aethelflaed’s color rises slightly as she watches Finan run a hand through his very unkempt half-mullet. She pointedly does not look at Aldhelm, who is finishing his second scotch.

“It’s not so bad, Finan,” Uhtred says.

“That’s because Gisela is cool, Uhtred. You’re lucky.” Finan turns to Sihtric here. “You’re lucky too, you bastard, if this girl really exists.”

Sihtric shrugs, his face remaining impassive. “Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t.”

“Schrödinger’s Girlfriend,” Aldhelm murmurs, and Sihtric actually chuckles.

“So, are you seeing anyone, Aldhelm?” Uhtred asks. Finan pours Aldhelm a glass of wine, though Aethelflaed is not sure if that’s intended to help or hurt.

“Haven’t since I broke up with my last boyfriend, no,” Aldhelm says casually.

Aethelflaed bites her lip in amusement. She has to admit that answer is genius. Not that Uhtred couldn't conceive of bisexuality—Sihtric had been quietly out as bisexual since she’d met him—but that would certainly throw him off the scent for the time being.

It does give her a twinge of…well, not quite jealousy, but perhaps a close relative. She and Aldhelm haven’t talked specifics about past partners, other than the obvious conversations surrounding Aethelred, but this does make her somewhat more curious about who this ex-boyfriend had been. He had told her the last person he has been with with was a man—not that he owed it to her, but rather that he felt comfortable enough to share, but she hadn't known it had been boyfriend-level serious. Still, she shouldn't ask…that wasn’t their agreement. But she wonders if she’d seen this person around campus, and the idea that he may have gotten to do normal couple things with Aldhelm smarts somewhat.

Osferth, much to her relief, arrives with a makeshift cheese plate at this point. He’s managed to make it look quite elegant—he really should be the one in charge of hosting parties at the Burg, instead of Finan.

“Should we move to the dining table, Aethelflaed?” he asks, and Aethelflaed thinks her rug may be saved after all.

They begin to migrate, and Aethelflaed darts to the kitchen to bring plates and silverware. Uhtred follows.

“So I really wasn’t interrupting anything after all.”

“You were going to stay if you thought you were?”

“Well…I thought you might need a second opinion.”

Aethelflaed sighs. There had been that moment last year, right before Erik, that she had almost considered hooking up with Uhtred. She’s very glad she hadn’t. He’d probably always be a bit flirtatious, but she doesn’t mind it. It doesn’t have to go farther than that.

“I promise, should I need your opinion, I will ask for it.” She hands Uhtred a stack of plates and sends him into the dining room. Aldhelm is walking her way now, and she fixes a casual smile on her face as he picks up two bottles of wine from the case Finan has left by the kitchen.

“These friends of yours certainly know how to drink,” he says. “Not judging, to be clear. But it sort of puts your whole first year into context.”

“Are you implying I would have to be perpetually drunk to be with Aethelred?”

He grimaces slightly. “Not exactly—“

“You’re not totally off base, to be honest.”

He snorts a laugh and heads back into the dining room with the wine. Aethelflaed inhales deeply, trying not to become too distracted with thoughts of what she and Aldhelm may have been doing had they not been interrupted, and carefully lifts the roasting pan out of the oven.

She’d bought the thermometer at the store with all her other ingredients and it takes her a minute to figure out to use it.

Osferth appears to retrieve the salad he’d prepared earlier from the fridge. He hesitates next to her for a moment, clearly wanting to help but careful not to overstep.

“Would you like me to—“

“God, yes.” She hands him the thermometer, and he smiles happily, then gently inserts it into the chicken in a few strategic places.

“Perfect!” he says, gesturing proudly to the roasting pan as if it was a newborn, and Aethelflaed breaths a sigh of relief.

“I didn’t think it was going to be raw, or anything, but…”

“As probably the only other person in this flat who has cooked a chicken, you did fine.”

Aethelflaed laughs, and they bring the rest of the food to the others. She’s never used her dining table in this way before. When her parents visit they always dine out, and she usually eats her meals over the kitchen counter or curled up on the couch. It’s sort of nice, she has to admit, even though it wasn’t the evening she had planned. She also can’t deny that part of her wishes that she and Aldhelm didn't have to pretend they weren’t a thing. It would be nice to sit beside him, take his hand under the table, drape her arm around him as she refilled his wine glass. He’s holding his own surprisingly well—he seems to be approaching this evening with academic deliberation, taking his cues from the others as well as her, and it serves him well. Under different circumstances, he would actually be the perfect boyfriend. And that realization makes it slightly hard for her to swallow her meal.

“Chicken is very good, Aethelflaed,” says Finan through a mouthful, and she does not hide the fact that she’s proud. Adequately roasting a chicken and deterring Uhtred’s line of questioning in a single evening was no small accomplishment.

There isn't quite enough food to go around (it had been a small bird), but no one seems to mind given that the wine is ever-flowing. Once they’ve gone through half a dozen bottles or so Uhtred helps himself to the vodka.

Aethelflaed herself is certainly feeling the effects of the wine. She keeps glancing over at Aldhelm, as subtly as she can, and he appears to have loosened slightly as well. She can't help but imagine herself moving to his side, throwing an arm around his shoulder, sliding halfway onto his lap, feeling his hand rest on her waist. He catches her eye at one point and she feels herself blush and drops her gaze. Hopefully, no one else had noticed.

It’s growing late, Sihtric and Aldhelm have already done dishes when Finan tries to raid the fridge for something sweet to no avail, and Osferth announces they should be on their way. They all thank her and begin to leave, Uhtred and Sihtric starting raucous singing in the hallway that she’s sure will wake the neighbors. Aldhelm packs up his things too, thanks her, and walks out with them, and she feels like something is squeezing her heart from the inside.

She catches her breath, her apartment feeling weirdly empty.

The dishes are drying, Osferth even took the garbage out with him. There’s really nothing left for her to nervously tidy, an impulse she didn’t know she had.

She’s just picked up a nearly empty bottle of wine and taken a swig when she hears the key in the lock.

“Sorry,” Aldhelm says, slightly breathless, “Took me a minute to lose them, and then I had to double back.”

“I wasn’t sure you were coming back,” she says, setting the bottle of wine down and sinking into the sofa. The exhaustion of the evening is hitting her all at once, and she feels like crying.

Aldhelm hesitates by the doorway for a moment. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No,” Aethelflaed says, growing teary for some infuriating reason. “You haven’t. You were perfect. You _are_ perfect.”

He glances at the wine bottle and back at her.

“I’m not drunk,” she says defensively.

“Clearly not,” he says gently and takes a seat on the coffee table. “Do you want me to go?”

She shakes her head, tears spilling over, and he thumbs them away, then takes her hands. He’s looking at her like he’s about to apologize for something, and that makes her head swim.

“What did you want to talk about?” she asks, keeping her voice as steady as she can. “Earlier, I mean?”

“We can talk about it another time,” he says softly. “Let’s try to get some sleep.”

That answer doesn’t make her feel better, but it doesn’t make her feel worse either. She’s definitely not up to a conversation right now.

Neither of them drifts off to sleep right away, though she does stop crying once they’re in bed.

The worst part is that she knows when she’s awake and sober again she’ll have to acknowledge what she feels now.

She wasn’t supposed to fall for him. This wasn’t supposed to hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> I did mention that the angst was coming. It will get worse before it gets better...but it will get better, I promise. 
> 
> I should note, the prep school friend of Edward's that I mention is 100% Eardwulf which is 100% due to kingwellsjaha's fic [Saint of Shitty Reasons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28035336) (which you should go read). 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! If you enjoyed you can reblog the photoset and playlist [here.](https://aadmelioraa.tumblr.com/post/640761128809644032/aadmelioraa-modern-au-college-au)


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